A Feast Closed
by Kamkats
Summary: An innocent visit to a boardinghouse turns into a nightmare. Rated T for subject matter.


_A/N: First of all, I missed my window for posting this on Halloween, so I'm posting it today, Friday the 13th. NO, I'm not superstitious, but I thought it was a nice touch for such a dark-themed story. If you're a tad bit squeamish, don't read this. I mean, it's not graphic, but the subject matter is a bit disturbing. What can I say? FIRST CREEPYPASTA STORY! Excited because I haven't posted anything in what seems like forever. To tell the truth, I had this done back in May but waited awhile to post it. I had to step back from it for a little bit to see if I still liked it, I guess I ? Comments? PM me. :) Enjoy! Or NOT..._

 **Dramatis Personae**

 **Gil Favor-** Trail boss who always seems ticked off about something

 **Rowdy Yates-** Young trail-boss-in-training who has a tendency to make his own rules

 **Pete Nolan-** Well-meaning scout

 **G. W. Wishbone-** The drive's cook

 **Harkness "Mushy" Mushgrove III-** Wishbone's clueless assistant

 **Jim Quince-** Kind of just "There" but is an essential character

 **Hey Soos-** Mexican guy who sounds like Speedy Gonzales

 **Teddy-** The guy who always dies first

oooooOOOOOOOOOooooooo

Jim Quince slowed his horse to a trot as he caught up to trail scout Pete Nolan. His dusty, mustached face beamed with excitement as he approached the scout.

"Someth'n I can do for ya, Quince?" Pete asked, leaned back easy in his saddle.

Quince nodded, eager to ask an obviously long-held question.

"Are we anywhere near Weeping Water?"

Pete frowned and looked on ahead, squinting against the sun in the sky. He shrugged and looked back at Quince.

"Yeah," he said casually.

Quince was ecstatic; Weeping Water. His chest swelled with joy whenever he thought of anyplace like home, and Weeping Water was like home to him.

"Why?" Pete inquired suddenly.

Quince was taken off guard by the scout's question, but didn't hesitate in replying.

"That's where my aunt, Martha, runs a boardinghouse. I figured that if we were close enough to the town, maybe I could stop in and visit her," he explained.

Pete nodded; his intentions seemed honorable.

"Well," he started, sitting up straight, "You'll have to take it up with the Boss."

Quince furrowed his brow at that remark; the Boss? Really? He hoped Mr. Favor had enough of a heart to let a lonely drover visit his sweet aunt. Of course Mr. Favor had a heart! Right?

ooooOOOOOOooooo

"Are you sure your aunt's gonna like havin' a bunch of dusty drovers she hardly knows go tromping into her boardinghouse?" Rowdy Yates asked, holding his hat in his hands as Quince led him and several other drovers, save for Mr. Favor, up the front porch of the boardinghouse. Quince didn't answer the ramrod, not really knowing the answer himself. He sighed and stole a backwards glance at the dreary little town of Weeping Water. It was near dusk and the town was quiet, the trees casting long shadows over the streets.

"When'd Mr. Favor say he'd be in?" Teddy asked quietly. Quince stopped in front of the elegant door on the porch and twisted his lip in thought.

"He said he might turn in later, just out of politeness. But he said he had some business to attend to here in town," he explained.

Quince then inhaled deeply, turning back to the door and hesitating before giving a hearty knock. A moment or two passed before faint footsteps were heard from inside the house and the door opened a crack. An older woman with salt and pepper hair pulled up in a bun peered around the door and furrowed her brow. "Yes?"

Quince took off his hat and grinned from ear to ear at her.

"Hello, Martha," he said sheepishly.

The old woman's eyes went wide and a smile spread across her face.

"James!" she exclaimed, throwing the door open wide and rushing forward to greet her nephew. She grabbed his face and kissed him several times on the cheek, spurring a laugh from Rowdy. Quince awkwardly stood up straight and nodded.

"Good to see you too," he murmured.

Martha tilted her head and smiled, but then looked around Quince to see the other drovers.

"And who are these young men?" she asked in surprise.

Quince raised his eyebrows in question, but then realized who she was talking about. Turning around quickly, he gestured towards the drovers who were standing at the bottom of the porch steps, eagerly awaiting introduction.

"These are some of the drovers from the cattle drive I've been working for," he said, "This here is ramrod Rowdy Yates."

Rowdy stepped forward bashfully and gave a shy half-grin.

"Ma'am," he said, giving a slight nod. Aunt Martha flashed him a smile and then turned to Quince and whispered, "What's a ramrod?"

Quince and Rowdy chuckled, and Quince put a hand on his aunt's shoulder.

"Ramrod just means second-in-command," he clarified. Aunt Martha's eyes went wide and she laughed.

"Oh deary me," she said, "I never thought my own nephew would be a cowboy on a real cattle drive!"

Rowdy cocked an eyebrow; well, this woman was certainly a different sort. It seemed to him that when anybody heard you were a drover, they'd cringe and turn their noses up at you. This Aunt Martha of Quince's was a refreshing change. Whether she was just being nice or just wasn't up-to-date on popular opinion regarding drovers, Rowdy was pretty pleased.

"This here is trail scout Pete Nolan," Quince continued. Pete tipped his hat to Martha and gave her the most charming smile in his repertoire.

"This here is Teddy, and then this is Hey Soos," Quince finished.

"What a fine bunch of friends you have, James!" Martha exclaimed, casting an almost disturbingly affectionate glance at Teddy.

"We try to be," Rowdy said with a slight grin.

Quince rolled his eyes, but Martha just laughed. "Well, come on in boys!" she said, gesturing towards the door. The drovers exchanged "Oh, what the heck?" glances and trotted up the porch steps and followed Quince and his aunt into the boardinghouse.

"Any tenants today, Martha?" Quince asked. Martha shook her head.

"Not today. There haven't been too many people riding through town lately," she replied.

"You have a stage station, no?" Hey Soos inquired. Martha paused and nodded slowly.

"Yes, but it only comes and goes once every two weeks," she said stiffly, "Like I said, we haven't had many visitors lately."

Both Rowdy and Pete picked up on Aunt Martha's guarded reply and they looked at each other. Rowdy furrowed his brow; maybe he should keep an eye out for any suspicious vibes coming off of Martha, just in case. After all, he really didn't know her and had no reason to trust her unquestionably. Rowdy trusted Quince's judgment, but there were some things best left to a ramrod.

ooooooOOOOOOOoooooo

Mr. Favor sighed and slapped his hat against the side of a hitching rail, knocking the dust out of it. He brushed it off and then placed it back on his head before started across the street towards Martha's Boardinghouse. His business in town was unsuccessful, finding out that the telegraph office was closed, rendering him unable to send a wire to his daughters back in Philadelphia.

He had just gotten to the door when the man ran out, not even stopping to say hello. Mr. Favor had to apprehend the man and have him explain the meaning of the office closing so soon. The man turned out to be a babbling idiot and didn't know jack, so the boss turned him loose.

The trail boss stopped at the base of the porch steps and evaluated the establishment, trying to discern what the woman who ran it looked like. Any relative of Quince's couldn't have been too bad of a person. Shaking his head and silently lamenting about all the schemes he'd been roped into, he approached the front door and knocked, remembering to take off his hat in a lady's presence.

While Mr. Favor waited for an answer, he heard a clatter around back of the house. He frowned and walked to the edge of the porch and peered around the side of the building.

"Get out of here!" came a shrill shriek.

Soon after, two mangy-looking dogs came running down the alley, out into the street and off into the night. Mr. Favor watched them go and then turned back to where the shriek had come from. He looked just in time to see a blonde woman slam the picket fence door shut and storm back into the house. Mr. Favor shook his head in bewilderment and turned back to the door, which had already been opened, shining a rectangle of light out onto the street.

"Ma'am," Mr. Favor greeted, unsure how long the old woman had been standing behind him.

"You must be Mr. Favor!" she said in a sugar-sweet tone. The trail boss forced a smile, perturbed by the overly-sweet tone in which the woman had greeted him.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied.

"Oh yes, your drovers told me all about you!" she exclaimed. Mr. Favor frowned; did they now? Hopefully his rambunctious ramrod Rowdy didn't mention the boss's tendency to scrutinize people in a wary manner. Otherwise, this woman would be on the lookout for strange questions Mr. Favor might ask on his quest to find out more about her.

"I'm James's Aunt Martha," she introduced herself, "Why don't you come in? We were just sitting down for supper!"

Mr. Favor followed Martha into the house and closed the door behind him, blocking out the night. As he followed the plump old woman through the house, he craned his neck to look at all the furnishings the boardinghouse offered. Mahogany tables, lace curtains, Turkish rugs. Yeah, this wasn't a poor establishment.

"Hey Boss," Rowdy greeted with a broad grin, sitting at a long dining table that was covered with an elegant white tablecloth. Mr. Favor gave a curt nod to his drovers.

"Won't you sit down?" Martha asked pleasantly, pulling up a seat next to Quince.

"Don't mind if I do," Mr. Favor replied amiably, only thinking two can play at this game!

Mr. Favor sat at the table next to Pete and put his hat on his lap.

"We're having ham for supper," Martha said with joy, getting out a large slicing knife and a two-pronged fork. She started cutting the ham quickly, but Quince frowned.

"Martha," he asked, "Don't you think you should have somebody else cut the ham? Somebody…uh, stronger, maybe?"

Aunt Martha scoffed and waved her nephew off.

"I know how to cut ham, I've been doing it for my guests for twenty years now, so don't tell me what to do," she said good-humouredly.

Pete leaned over to Mr. Favor and nudged him in the arm with his elbow.

"Kinda of a funny lookin' ham," he murmured. Mr. Favor said nothing and gave only a noncommittal grunt.

Aunt Martha busily cut the ham and slapped slabs of it onto her guests' plates. The ham oozed an unusual amount of grease as she cut into it and Pete continued to stare with a look that said, "I don't think that's a very good ham."

When all the drovers were served, Aunt Martha sat down and started to eat. Hey Soos exchanged glances with Teddy; weren't they going to say grace? Quince gave the two drovers a piercing look and gestured towards Aunt Martha. Hey Soos sighed and decided to dig in.

Mr. Favor looked at Martha through narrowed eyes and picked up his fork, hesitant to eat. Why should he trust this woman? She could've poisoned the ham for all he knew. If that was the case, why should he let the other drovers eat it? He couldn't make sense of it himself, but decided to find a way out of this meal. At the corner of his eye, he saw the remedy to his problem.

A gray tabby cat weaved itself around Mr. Favor's chair leg and looked up at him. Before it decided to meow, the boss cut a piece of his ham and stuck it with the fork, shoving it down towards the floor. The cat tore the slab of meat off the prongs and ate it hungrily.

"How do you like it, boys?" Martha asked, digging into the ham herself.

"Good," Rowdy said, his mouth full of semi-masticated food.

Mr. Favor rolled his eyes at his ramrod's poor manners.

"It's much better than what we get on the drive!" Quince noted, serving himself some stuffing. "Well," Pete started humorously, "Wishbone might argue with you on that."

Mr. Favor pursed his lips and glanced down at the food on his plate; it did look good…and Martha was eating it too. Why would she eat her own cooking if she had secretly spoiled it? Yet, the trail boss stayed firm with himself and snuck some more of the ham down to the tabby cat.

"It's delicious," Mr. Favor lied, pretending he actually had something in his mouth.

Pete cocked an eyebrow when he saw Mr. Favor drop a piece of ham on the floor for the cat.

"Yeah," Pete murmured, "Delicious."

oooooOOOOOOOOoooooo

After an hour of fake-eating and idle chit-chat, Mr. Favor decided it was time to turn in.

"Well, we should be getting back to the drive," he said gruffly, standing up and grabbing his hat. Rowdy was about to argue, but Mr. Favor gave his ramrod a deadly look.

"But you just got here!" Aunt Martha argued, "You must stay for the night!"

Mr. Favor was going to explain why they couldn't, but the old woman continued.

"You can stay here, free of charge! Any friends of James's, are friends of mine!" she said kindly. Mr. Favor huffed; it was a long way back to camp and it was very late and they did have to get up early the next morning…

"Great!" Rowdy said excitedly, "We'd be happy to stay."

Mr. Favor clenched his jaw and scowled at Rowdy, but the ramrod pretended he didn't see.

ooooooOOOOOOOooooooo

After Aunt Martha led the drovers to their rooms, she blew out the lamp in the hallway and headed downstairs to her room. Each drover had gotten their own room, taken that there were no tenants. Mr. Favor glanced around at his room and gazed skeptically at the bed, which was unmade. Aunt Martha sure didn't keep track of her rooms very well, he thought. He sighed and unbuckled his gun belt and rested it on the nightstand, then sat on the bed and pulled his boots off. Afterwards, he blew the lamp out and flopped down in the bed, ready to crash.

oooooOOOOOOOOOooooo

A loud bang and a muffled yelp echoed in the trail boss's head as he tried to drift back into his dreams. He rolled over on his side, pretty well tangled up in his blankets. Another bang startled him and he fluttered his eyes open. He pushed himself up in the bed and rested on his elbows, staring at the headboard and waiting for another sound. A fading scream made him pause and hold his breath. Mr. Favor waited several moments before making any move to get out of bed. He rested his forehead into the soft pillow that was beckoning him to another few hours of rest and sighed. He looked up again and reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the clock. He turned over in bed with it and held it out to the moon shining through the window, squinting to read the numbers.

 _3: 16._

Mr. Favor closed his eyes and slammed the clock back down on the nightstand. He whipped the covers off of himself and felt a rush of cold air as he did so. Sitting up in bed, he rubbed his eyes.

 _It's too early in the morning for this!_

He stood up and slid on his gun belt, keeping his eyes closed as he did so. He yawned and headed to the door. He froze when he heard footsteps down the hall, walking past his door and fading away. Mr. Favor bit his lower lip as he carefully turned the squeaky door handle and pushed the door open a crack. He peered out into the darkened hall and kept his eyes open for any signs of danger. He inhaled deeply and pushed the door open all the way and continued looking down the hallway towards the top of the stairs. Nothing lit up the night except for the rays of the moon spilling in on the rug. The trail boss went to look towards the other end of the hall but jumped when he came face to face with a wrinkled, steely-eyed Aunt Martha.

Mr. Favor was so startled, he was at a loss for words. Neither one of them said a word, even though the trail boss silently lamented that he always played his best games at offense. Instead, he waited to defend himself.

"What are you doing up so late, Mr. Favor?" Martha asked. It was obvious she was suspicious, but that wasn't as obvious as the effort she was making to be sweet and kind.

Mr. Favor stood up straight and cleared his throat.

"I heard some banging out here. Thought I'd see who was doing it," he explained. He then added, "I, ah, also heard some yelling."

Martha was as still as a stone.

"Yes," she replied coldly, "That was my neighbor's daughter downstairs."

Mr. Favor frowned, but gave a slight smile of triumph.

"I thought you said there were no tenants?" he pried. Martha narrowed her eyes.

"There aren't. Diana lives here," she said curtly.

Mr. Favor's smile of triumph disappeared, but he still wanted to find out more.

"Oh, I see. I wonder what all the yelling and banging was about," he questioned, catching a glint in Martha's eyes. He could tell she was trying to quickly think of an excuse, but she was able to manufacture one within a reasonable amount of time.

"Some stray dogs were trying to break in through the back door and Diane was beating them off," she said, straightening up. Mr. Favor nodded, pretending he was convinced. "I see," he murmured.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to bed," Aunt Martha said curtly before turning on her heel and heading back downstairs.

Back to bed?

Martha was still in her day clothes, what did she mean by getting back to bed? Something was sketchy about this situation and Mr. Favor knew it. First of all, she never mentioned anything about a girl living in her boardinghouse, although Mr. Favor had seen a blonde outside earlier. He was convinced the dogs in the neighborhood were troublesome because he had seen so firsthand, but when he woke up to investigate the strange noises coming from downstairs, he heard no barking whatsoever. Martha was up to something, but what? His mind said to go investigate, but his body said to go back to bed. Giving into his fatigue, he headed back to bed. After he entered his room, he clicked the lock on the door, just in case. Some people said Mr. Favor had a suspicious mind, but being a trail boss for so long had weathered him to that point, and in some ways he was glad. Slipping off his gun belt and falling into bed, he stayed awake for a few minutes longer just to listen for anymore sounds.

ooooOOOOOOOooooo

The next morning, sunlight filtered in through the lace curtains, flooding the room with an almost annoying brightness. Mr. Favor shifted in the bed again, his head under the covers, trying to resist the dawn. A loud knock on his door made him bolt his eyes open.

"Boss?" Quince's voice called.

"Mm?"

"Breakfast'll be ready in a few minutes."

"Alright."

Heading downstairs, Mr. Favor saw all the drovers gathered at the table, looking well-rested and refreshed. If only the trail boss felt the same way. He had stayed up half the night pondering over his 3 a.m. encounter with Martha in the hallway. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes and feeling like a stupid idiot for being so tired, Mr. Favor noticed with a start that Teddy was not present at the table.

"Mm. Where's Teddy?" he inquired, pulling up a seat.

Rowdy was about to reply, but Martha piped up instead. Ga, that woman!

"He left early this morning. Said he was heading back to the…the drive or something like that," she said, smiling brightly. Mr. Favor leaned back in his chair and furrowed his brow.

"Well," he started, cocking an eyebrow, "He didn't mention anything about that to me."

Hey Soos and Quince looked thoughtful for a moment, but Aunt Martha offered another feeble excuse. "Perhaps he was missing the cows," she said.

Pete snorted while drinking coffee and Rowdy grinned.

"I find that…very unlikely," Mr. Favor said articulately. "Well," Pete said, putting his coffee mug down, "'Spose we can look for 'im after breakfast," he grunted.

Aunt Martha smiled again and walked into the kitchen. Mr. Favor took that as his opportunity to share his observations about the boardinghouse.

"We've got to get out of here!" he hissed to Rowdy.

"What? Why?" the ramrod asked defensively.

Quince looked offended and frowned. "Yeah, why?"

Mr. Favor rolled his eyes. "One, we need to get back to the herd, two, we need to find out where the hell Teddy went, and three…this place gives me the creeps!"

Pete sat back in his chair and gave Mr. Favor a bewildered look.

"You sure ain't acting like yerself," he noted.

"Yeah, you ain't normal today," Quince added angrily.

Mr. Favor pursed his lips in frustration. "This place isn't normal!" he growled. Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open and Aunt Martha came gliding out like a fairy, a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other.

"Breakfast!" she chirped like a bird. A big, fat, annoying bird.

Mr. Favor tried hard not to condemn Martha just yet; after all, she was Quince's Aunt.

"What's for breakfast today, Martha?" Quince asked, looking up at his aunt with admiration. Mr. Favor got an abrupt, sinking feeling in his stomach, hoping he wouldn't find any dirt on Martha. Quince was a good man and loved his aunt. He didn't deserve to have her devalued in any way. But how could he continue with his investigation of this boardinghouse without finding something that would belittle Martha? It was obvious she was hiding something! Mr. Favor was certain that it was not fatigue that lessened Martha's even keel the night before. She was mad that he had gotten up in the middle of the night. It was also obvious she didn't like him, or the fact that he was poking his nose where it didn't belong. Heck, maybe he just should've stayed in bed. Martha's reply brought the trail boss back to his senses.

"Bacon and eggs!" she tweeted. Mr. Favor winced whenever she raised her voice like that. Couldn't she act all happy and giddy without being a total moron?

Hey Soos perked up when he heard the word, "Bacon".

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Rowdy said cheerily, stabbing his fork into one of the slabs of bacon, less than seconds after Martha had put the plate down. The plate was passed down the line of drovers and Mr. Favor was last. Martha looked at him expectantly, like she knew he was dubious of the food she was serving.

He took a slab of bacon and plopped it on his plate. It was pretty crispy and clinked when it hit the plate. Mr. Favor kept his gaze locked with Martha, silently challenging her.

The eggs were then passed down, but were not as eagerly anticipated as the bacon was. Rowdy must've eaten helping upon helping of bacon and Mr. Favor watched him, feeling perturbed beyond comparison. He stared down at the bacon and decided to take a bite out of it. It couldn't possibly hurt, could it? It looked edible, anyhow.

The trail boss bit down on the bacon and instantly noted how unnaturally chewy it was. It looked crispy and such, but had an underlying hint of un-chewability. It also tasted strange. Metallic, almost. Yet, Mr. Favor choked it down out of politeness and managed to eat the eggs as well. The eggs tasted just fine; delicious, almost. But the bacon…yuck.

After breakfast, Mr. Favor ordered Quince and Hey Soos back to the herd as he, Pete, and Rowdy surreptitiously decided to look for Teddy. Mr. Favor's reason for sending Quince back was to make sure he wasn't around if the drovers found anything unusual or incriminating. His reason for sending Hey Soos with him was to make sure Quince actually got back to the camp. Quince had hesitated in leaving his dear aunt, but the boss convinced him that he needed to help out with the herd and that he could come back to visit with his aunt later.

Pete had assessed the land apt enough to keep the herd of three-thousand fed and watered for two more days. Plenty of time for a furtive investigation, Mr. Favor thought.

Pete had gone out to patrol the town, seeing if he could nonchalantly gather information about Aunt Martha's Boardinghouse, while Rowdy investigated the rooms in the building. Mr. Favor would keep watch for Aunt Martha, who said she was heading out to bring a friend of hers a plate of cookies.

Better hope she gets her buggy stuck in a mud hole out in some secluded place, Mr. Favor growled inwardly. As Mr. Favor sat at the foot of the stairs in the foyer of the house, he combed back through his memory, lamenting about breakfast. He realized that he hadn't seen Diane at the table. Perhaps she had eaten before the drovers? Or maybe there was no such woman as Diane? If Aunt Martha lived up to Mr. Favor's expectations, he could snidely compare Diane to a unicorn; often heard of but never seen.

"Mr. Favor!" came a hushed call from the top of the stairs. The trail boss turned around and looked up at Rowdy, who was heading down the stairs, a spur in his hand.

"Found this under Teddy's bed," he murmured. Mr. Favor examined the spur. How the devil could he have lost that? Teddy never took his spurs off…unless they had fallen off in some sort of a…a struggle?

"Innerestin'," Mr. Favor muttered. He then gestured his head towards the back of the house. "See what you can find in the rooms down here," he ordered, "And try not to disturb anyth'n . Martha's already on to us as it is, I don't need to give her a reason to believe her own suspicions."

"Maybe she'll give you a reason to believe yours," Rowdy said as he walked off into the parlor. "Maybe," Mr. Favor said to himself, handling the spur in his hand.

ooooOOOOOOoooooo

Pete threw his toothpick down on the ground as he exited the general store. So far, he had visited every establishment in town and had received different stories from each merchant.

The blacksmith had related to him that rumors flew about Aunt Martha's Boardinghouse. It seemed she got enough traffic, but no one was ever seen leaving the boardinghouse except Martha herself to pick up supplies. This had caught Pete's interest and he quickly remedied the sturdy blacksmith's fuzzy memory with five dollars.

"The funny thing is," the blacksmith started, pocketing the bills, "Is that the boarders' horses never turn up. They just seem to vanish with their riders. One night I stayed up to see if one visitor would leave early; he never did. I watched the boarding house for three days. No activity of any sort and the visitor never emerged."

"Fancy that," Pete muttered.

The blacksmith nodded, dipping his newly formed horseshoe in a bucket of water.

"I can't quite figure it myself," the blacksmith grunted, brushing the dirt off of his hands and standing up straight.

"Yeah well," Pete said, "Thanks,"

As Pete now stood outside of the general store, he mulled over everybody's stories. The young woman at the dress shop said she didn't like Martha because she was unfriendly towards the townsfolk. The man at the telegraph office claimed he knew nothing and practically pushed the scout out of the office, slamming the door behind him. The barkeep said he personally thought Martha was a witch and worshiped Satan. Pete had laughed, and had gotten kicked out of the saloon. Maybe laughing wasn't a wise idea. The last witness was the general store manager who just said strange noises occasionally came from the boardinghouse in the dead of the night and sometimes lights would flick on one minute and turn off, only to flick on again.

Now that Pete had gathered everyone's opinion of Aunt Martha's Boardinghouse, he was ready to give his finds to the Boss. That's when he saw a buggy pull into town. His heart almost stopped when he saw who it was; Aunt Martha!

Pete looked back and forth and scuttled behind the general store, using the back alleys to make his way back to the boardinghouse. He had to warn the Boss!

oooooOOOOOOooooooo

As Mr. Favor roamed around the foyer in boredom, he lit a cigarette. He waved out the match and then blew smoke rings into the air. Suddenly he heard footsteps hurriedly clomping down the hall. Mr. Favor craned his neck to look down the hall and saw Rowdy running towards him, holding a gun belt and a ten-gallon hat.

"Boss!" he said breathlessly, coming to a halt before the trail boss.

Mr. Favor grabbed the gun belt and stared in shock at it.

"Teddy's gun belt," Rowdy murmured, stating the obvious.

Mr. Favor frowned. This wasn't good!

"Where'd you find these?" he demanded. Rowdy gestured with his thumb towards the back bedroom. "Aunt Martha's bedroom," he replied. Mr. Favor pushed Rowdy aside and stormed to the back bedroom and flew the door open, glancing about wildly. Where in the world was Teddy? He dug around through the room and was unable to find anything else relating to Teddy.

As he flipped over Martha's pillow, he heard the back porch door slam shut and boots clomping through the kitchen. Pete poked his head in the room and tried catching his breath.

"Martha just rode into town! You better head off the search!" he warned. Mr. Favor rose up quickly, replaced the pillow and raced upstairs with Rowdy and Pete like school kids who had just got caught putting gum in a girl's hair.

The front door slammed just as Mr. Favor closed the door to his room and locked it.

Mr. Favor threw his hat down on the bed angrily, knowing that he should have confronted Martha about the evidence instead of running like a scared child. But his respect for Quince told him to do otherwise. What could Martha have done to Teddy? He wouldn't just trot off and leave his gun and his hat at the boardinghouse! That meant he still had to be around, but where? Mr. Favor didn't know what to think, but he found himself drawing closer and closer to the thought of Martha being a killer. Okay, maybe it was just a misunderstanding, maybe Teddy did leave? But what if he didn't? The evidence to suggest the latter was overwhelming!

Mr. Favor paced around his room until he heard a voice at the bottom of the stairs, talking in a low tone.

"Now Diane," Aunt Martha said, "I'm going back out to the store to pick up a side for supper. Please make sure the drovers don't go snooping around when I'm gone, you understand?"

A deafening silence followed and a soft voice replied.

"Yes, Aunt Martha," came the sigh.

"Thank you, dear," Martha murmured before the front door slammed shut. Mr. Favor pressed his ear against the door and listened for Diane's footsteps to fade away. Quickly and carefully opening the door, he rushed out of his room and tip-toed down the stairs. Swinging around the base of the banister, he came face-to-face with Diane. She really wasn't much to look at, mainly because her face was covered in dirt smudges. But underneath she might've been pretty. Her black hair was a bit matted and her brown eyes were like that of a pleading dog's.

"Where are you headed?" she asked cautiously, trying to block the hallway to the kitchen. Mr. Favor straightened up and decided to put on the charisma he was well-known for.

"Hello Miss," he said, throwing her the biggest smile he could manage. The young woman was not impressed.

"Please go back upstairs," she ordered in an almost monotone voice. The trail boss thought he picked up an underlying hint of fear in Diane's voice, but he wasn't sure.

Thank God that Rowdy isn't here right now, Mr. Favor thought, knowing how much of a sucker for girls his ramrod was.

"Mr. Favor, please go away," Diane begged.

Mr. Favor shrugged. "I just got here," he said pathetically, "Besides, I don't think we got properly introduced."

Diane pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.

"No we didn't, and I aim to keep it that way. Please go back upstairs or I'll…."

Mr. Favor was touched by how feeble the girl's attempt was to deter him.

"You'll…?" he prompted.

Diane looked flustered and scowled.

"Just go!" she snapped. Mr. Favor put his hands up in innocence.

"Miss, I didn't mean to intrude, but I need to find one of my drovers. Perhaps you've seen or met him? His name's Teddy and he's five feet-"

"No!" Diane interrupted.

"You're not making this easy!" Mr. Favor growled. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her close in a threatening way.

"I want to know where my drover is, or by God I'll make you tell me. I know for a fact that you and that broad Martha are in cahoots, don't tell me otherwise. Now either you can tell me where Teddy is, or I can tear this place apart and you with it!" the trail boss retorted, clearly at the end of his rope.

"I don't believe you," she hissed back.

Mr. Favor stared hard at her for a few moments and then pushed her away with an angry scoff.

"You need some help, Boss?" Pete asked, coming down the stairs, Rowdy in tow.

Mr. Favor backed away from Diane and crossed his arms.

"Maybe," he grumbled.

Rowdy's eyes widened when he saw the girl. Pete displayed a better lack of emotion and walked up to the boss to receive some information regarding his search of the house.

"Rowdy told me what you found," Pete said in a low voice.

Diane's eyes darted back and forth when she heard that.

"You was nosing around?" she panicked.

"You could say that, yes," Mr. Favor replied evenly.

Rowdy just continued to gawk at the girl and the boss rolled his eyes. Pete straightened his hat out and stood akimbo, looking the girl up and down with a look of disdain.

"Ain't she purdy?" he muttered sarcastically.

"You gonna finish searching the rest of the house?" Rowdy cut in. Mr. Favor nodded.

"I reckon so," he started, "If this little lady will let us."

Diane huffed and stood her ground.

"I'm not letting a bunch of dusty trail-hands go ransacking my house!" she argued. Mr. Favor raised his eyebrows.

"Your house?" he echoed. Pete cleared his throat.

"How long you been livin' here?" he questioned.

"I don't see that's any of your business," Diane shot back.

"You made it our business by kidnapping Teddy," Rowdy snapped, "Now either you show us where he is, or we'll find 'im ourselves!"

"No!" Diane screamed, blocking the hallway as Rowdy rushed forward. The sturdy ramrod bowled her over and strutted down the hall, the scout and trail boss behind him.

"You fools!" she screeched, after them, running to catch up with them. Rowdy flew open the cabinets and started searching frantically. Mr. Favor cocked an eyebrow, wondering what his ramrod expected to find in the cabinets. Pete pulled the oven door open and crack and looked inside.

"You got someth'n cooking?" he questioned. Diane swallowed hard.

"Yes," she replied, "A roast."

"Mind if I take a bite?" the scout asked innocently. Diane's eyes went round and she raced forward, slamming the oven door shut. "It's not ready yet!" she cried.

"Boy," Pete said angrily, "You're jumpier than a jack rabbit on a greasy griddle!"

As Rowdy looked under the table, the Boss looked behind a china cabinet.

"What's this?" he said to himself.

His inquiry got Pete and Rowdy's attention and they walked over to help their boss push the cabinet aside. Diane got anxious and started grappling at the drovers, tearing at them and pulling them away.

"No, no, no! You don't know what you're doing!" she screamed. When Mr. Favor finally got the china cabinet pushed aside, he discovered a worn-down door behind it. A sudden metallic tang filled his nostrils and he cringed.

The trail boss got a sinking feeling in his stomach as he reached for the doorknob. He was filled with a cold dread, secretly not wanting to find out what was waiting behind the door.

Whipping his gun out of his holster, he kicked the door open and froze.

A strong odor of death and decay hit his face and he recoiled in disgust. Pete and Rowdy peeked over the Boss's shoulders and widened their eyes in surprise.

"The hell…?" Mr. Favor shouted, dragging his feet into the large room. Every wall was stained with scarlet, the floor as well. The trail boss's boots squelched in the puddles of red that encompassed the entire floor. Skinned forms hung from hooks on the ceiling, the life dripping out of them. Amongst the tattered remains of indiscernible people, the boss saw the face of his faithful drover. He dared not go any further into the nightmarish room, but fled, trying hard to force his breakfast down.

"God Almighty!" he shouted, hunching over and breathing hard. Rowdy's eyes filled with a mixture of emotions, mainly disgust and anger. He slammed the door shut and whipped around to face Diane.

"You monster!" he growled menacingly. Pete looked sick to his stomach and dragged his sorry self to the oven and gestured to it.

"I don't suppose that's a roast?" he choked out.

Diane looked dreadful and shook her head. "It's not," she confessed, breaking down.

Pete turned white and his hat fell off as he leaned over.

"Then what the hell did we eat for breakfast?" he screamed. Diane leaned up against the wall and slid down onto the floor, tears streaming down her face.

"You ate it for supper too!" she sobbed.

"Oh my God," Pete gasped, heaving.

Rowdy cringed and twitched, all while Mr. Favor stood dumbfounded in front of the dreaded door. He listened to his scout throwing up all over the floor behind him and shook his head.

"I cannot believe this…." he trailed off. In all his life, Mr. Favor had never encountered any situation quite like this. Bandits, yes, traitorous women, yes, murderers, check. Cannibals? Not in a million years did he ever imagine anything quite like what had happened that day.

"You!" a voice shrieked behind them. All three drovers jerked their heads up to see Aunt Martha standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her face twisted with rage.

"You!" she screamed again.

Mr. Favor drew quickly and aimed it at the old woman. "Martha," he warned, "I don't know what kind of a twisted game you're playing here, but it involved the life of one of my drovers. I'm going to give you a chance to explain,"

Rowdy looked horrified, "She should hang for what she did to Teddy!" he argued.

Mr. Favor put his hand up for silence. Martha sighed and scowled.

"You shouldn't have put your nose where it didn't belong, Mr. Favor," she said sharply. "I think that's a matter of opinion," Pete growled, his revolver ready to fire.

"Why did you do it, Martha?" Mr. Favor asked desperately. Martha paused momentarily and straightened her back. It was obvious that she wasn't happy about the situation the trail boss had put her in, but there was really no way out of it.

"You boys must stay for supper," Martha said quietly.

Mr. Favor gave her a wary look. "Dare I ask why?"

Martha threw her purse down and revealed she was holding an enormous butcher's knife. "Because you are supper!" she shrieked, throwing the knife.

It missed Rowdy's head by an inch, taking off his hat instead and nailing it to the wall. Mr. Favor backed away carefully and made certain that Martha knew he had a gun.

"I don't want to shoot you, Martha," he said, "But if you try one more fool stunt like that, I might have to."

Suddenly, footsteps sounded as the front door slammed shut. Hey Soos ran into the kitchen, only to have Diane knock him unconscious with a rolling pin. Quince came right after Hey Soos, but was quicker and was able to disarm Diane, throwing her to the floor.

"What the hell is going on in here?" he demanded, infuriated.

Pete and Rowdy exchanged glances, not sure if Mr. Favor's reply would be sparing of Quince's feelings or not.

"Nothing at all, Jim," Mr. Favor said coolly, "Except your Aunt is a cannibal!"

Quince looked confused. "What?" he shouted, "What are you babbling about, Gil?"

"Don't believe me?" Mr. Favor challenged, "Open up that pantry door and tell me what you see!"

Quince glanced over at Martha and then cautiously approached the pantry door, grabbing the handle. Martha rushed over and blocked her nephew.

"James, he's lying! You know I'd never harm a fly!" she swindled him.

Quince nodded, giving the trail boss a deadly look. "I know, Martha," he growled, "I just need to convince Mr. Favor of that fact."

Mr. Favor felt sick to his stomach, knowing what Quince was about to experience.

He almost felt like he needed to stop him from opening the door, but how else would Quince learn who his aunt really was? As much as Mr. Favor hated to do it, it had to be done.

Swinging the door open and stepping inside, Quince froze. He yelled in shock and jumped out of the room, slamming the door. He yanked his gun out of its holster and started shooting the door up. Rowdy and Mr. Favor rushed forward to disarm Quince before he hurt himself.

"Who did that? Who killed Teddy? What was that?" he screamed. Rowdy restrained the drover and Mr. Favor put Quince's revolver in his belt.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he murmured.

Quince looked up at Mr. Favor, his green eyes filled with sheer terror and shock. He shot a desperate look over at Martha.

"How could you? Tell me it wasn't you!" he cried out.

Martha narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. "I warned you," she said defiantly, edging her way around the room. Rowdy followed her intentions, but a little too late as she lunged forward and yanked the butcher knife out of the wall.

"Gil!" Rowdy shouted as Martha threw the knife again. Mr. Favor was about to turn around to look towards Martha, but got a knife in his shoulder-blade instead. He gasped as it hit him and he was down like a calf. Both Quince and Pete fired off their guns at the same time, one bullet going through Martha's gut the other going through her back. Everything had happened so fast, Diane hardly had a chance to react. She stood there, wide-eyed at the scene that had unfolded before her.

"Martha!" she finally screamed, watching as blood oozed from the old woman's body. Pete blew the gun smoke away and glanced up at Quince, who had guilt written all over his face.

"I can't believe it," he muttered.

"Me neither…" Rowdy added.

"A little help here?" Mr. Favor grunted, trying to get up.

Rowdy and Pete helped their trail boss to his feet and winced when they saw the knife stuck fast in his back.

"Talk about getting stabbed in the back," Mr. Favor rasped jokingly, trying to make light of the situation. Rowdy looked at the wound and then shrugged.

"It doesn't look that bad. At least you're bleeding. Wishbone says that if you get a puncture wound that doesn't bleed it's not good," he informed his trail boss.

"Ya don't say?" Mr. Favor muttered sarcastically sitting down at the kitchen table, hunched over in pain.

Hey Soos started to get up off the floor and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ooohhh…what happened?" he moaned, getting up.

Suddenly, the front door swung open and people came rushing into the house, the sheriff leading them.

"We heard some gunshots!" the sheriff said. He then glanced down at the floor and saw Aunt Martha lying in a pool of her own blood.

"What the-?" he asked, too shocked to finish his sentence.

"You killed her!" the general store clerk gasped.

"Good riddance, I say!" the dress maker scorned.

"What happened?" echoed through the crowd of people and Rowdy had to push them back.

"Don't come in," he warned, "We have enough trouble on our hands as it is,"

Pete looked up at the sheriff and stood akimbo.

"It was self-defense. Everybody in this room saw it. We just didn't intend on shooting her twice. Guess Quince and I both had the same thing running through our minds," he explained.

"You saw it?" the sheriff asked Diane, who nodded hesitantly.

"Yes," she murmured, "Martha…threw the knife first."

Mr. Favor haphazardly got up and led the sheriff to the far corner of the room.

"I gotta talk to ya," he said.

After explaining the whole scenario to the surprised sheriff, Mr. Favor then led him over to the pantry and opened it a crack. The sheriff took one look into the room and covered his mouth, muffling curses.

oooooOOOOOOOOooooooo

As the sheriff led the drovers and the crowd outside, he turned to the trail boss.

"To tell ya the truth, I always had a sneaking suspicion that Martha was up to no good," he confessed, "We just were too scared to do anything about it."

Mr. Favor gave the sheriff a hard look and closed his eyes briefly, mulling everything over.

"Guess we all were suspicious," the store clerk said aloud, "But like the Sheriff said, we didn't do nothing 'bout it."

Diane stepped forward and looked down. "I knew what was going on ever since my first stay at the boardinghouse, but after I found out, Martha wouldn't let me leave. She said she didn't want to kill me neither, so I worked for her for five years," she then looked up and hissed through her teeth, "The sorriest five years of my life!"

Hey Soos was still pretty confused about the whole fiasco and just shook his head. Mr. Favor sighed and looked at the sheriff.

"You think we could get Teddy's body back?" he questioned. Before the sheriff could say anything, Diane spoke up.

"I wasn't supposed to say nothing, but since Martha is…dead….I could tell ya…"

"What?" Rowdy and Mr. Favor said simultaneously.

Diane faltered for a moment but then continued, "Your friend isn't dead," she admitted. "He isn't?" everyone echoed.

"No. He's in the woodshed out back, hog-tied," she explained.

"But I thought-?" Rowdy interrupted.

"No. That was some other unlucky sap," Diane assured him. Mr. Favor noted that Diane didn't seem too happy about anybody being dead, whether or not it was Teddy.

"Let's go get him!" Pete suggested.

So it went, Teddy was hog-tied up in the woodshed in the backyard of the boardinghouse. He was no worse for wear, but was outraged from having legs pulled all the way to his back and his arms cinched up to his ankles. He complained about how his throat had gone dry because how long he had been gagged, but Mr. Favor waved him off, just happy he was alive. A short visit to the doctor in town cured Mr. Favor of the "stabbing" pain in his back and he was deemed able to ride. As the drovers saddled up to leave town, Quince stole a quick glance back at the boardinghouse.

Rowdy noticed this and offered his sympathies.

"I'm sorry, Quince," he apologized, "I thought she was nice…for the most part…"

Quince nodded mildly and pulled himself up into the saddle.

"I just thought that I'd have a nicer visit," he muttered.

"Me too, buddy," Pete growled, holding his stomach, "Just wait till we tell Wishbone about this one."

The drovers then rode slowly out of town, Quince in tow.

ooooOOOOOOOoooooo

"The end!" Wishbone declared, crossing his arms. All the drovers sat dumbfounded around the campfire, eyebrows raised.

"That was the most realistic story ever!" Mushy said excitedly.

"That was terrible!" Quince snapped.

Mr. Favor snorted and grinned. "I have to say I'm impressed, Wish," he noted, dousing his cigarette in the dirt, "You have quite the story-telling abilities!"

"Why didn't I ride off with Diane?" Rowdy demanded outrageously.

"Because the plot demanded you didn't!" Wishbone argued.

"Oh plot, shmlot! Who-" Rowdy complained.

"Well," the Boss concluded, standing up, "That was a nice story, but I think we should all hit the sack."

Murmured agreements sounded from the surrounding drovers as they went off to their bedrolls. As everyone settled down for the night, the camp grew quiet. That's when Rowdy sat up in his bedroll and looked around.

"Hey, where's Teddy?" he asked.

 **The End.**


End file.
